A wasp flies up a lion's nose and "To the extremest verge ascends, / There all his waspish venom spends, / And near the brain's monastic cell / He pours his macerating spell"
— Robertson, James (fl.1768-1788)
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed for T. Davies ... G. Robinson ... and T. Cadell [etc.]
Date
1773
Metaphor
A wasp flies up a lion's nose and "To the extremest verge ascends, / There all his waspish venom spends, / And near the brain's monastic cell / He pours his macerating spell"
Metaphor in Context
Tho' stunn'd at first--with venom'd spite
The Wasp soon wings his circling flight;
He vows revenge, and on his foe,
With sting high-brandish'd aims the blow:
"Tyrant (he cries) what cou'd provoke
"Without a cause, thy barb'rous stroke?
"From want of food can it proceed?
"Lions on Insects never feed:--
"The reason's plain, thy cruel breast
"Is with a human soul possest;
"'Twas wantonness provok'd the deed,
"To please your pride, ev'n Wasps must bleed;
"But, Tyrant, take before I die
"An injur'd Wasp's last legacy:"
So said, he darts with rapid wing
The nostrils of the shaggy King,
To the extremest verge ascends,
There all his waspish venom spends,
And near the brain's monastic cell
He pours his macerating spell:
The Tyrant roars, and o'er the plain,
Drives wild in all the hell of pain;
The forests tremble with his cries,
Quick to his brain the venom flies,
And raging mad, he tears, blasphemes, and dies.
Thus bubble Pride and Cruelty,
Those pageant Tyrants of an hour,
Are often forc'd to bend the knee,
Ev'n to a paltry Insect's power.
The Wasp soon wings his circling flight;
He vows revenge, and on his foe,
With sting high-brandish'd aims the blow:
"Tyrant (he cries) what cou'd provoke
"Without a cause, thy barb'rous stroke?
"From want of food can it proceed?
"Lions on Insects never feed:--
"The reason's plain, thy cruel breast
"Is with a human soul possest;
"'Twas wantonness provok'd the deed,
"To please your pride, ev'n Wasps must bleed;
"But, Tyrant, take before I die
"An injur'd Wasp's last legacy:"
So said, he darts with rapid wing
The nostrils of the shaggy King,
To the extremest verge ascends,
There all his waspish venom spends,
And near the brain's monastic cell
He pours his macerating spell:
The Tyrant roars, and o'er the plain,
Drives wild in all the hell of pain;
The forests tremble with his cries,
Quick to his brain the venom flies,
And raging mad, he tears, blasphemes, and dies.
Thus bubble Pride and Cruelty,
Those pageant Tyrants of an hour,
Are often forc'd to bend the knee,
Ev'n to a paltry Insect's power.
Categories
Provenance
Searching "cell" and "brain" in HDIS (Poetry)
Date of Entry
08/29/2005
